Eton Mess
by Aquila Blue
Summary: An AU fic set in modern day england involving the characters from Dirge of Cerberus, focusing on Nero and Weiss. They are both students at the prestigous school Eton, but can Nero get Weiss to even notice him, let alone like him? Shonen ai, fluff.
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: I do not own any Square Enix characters and am not making any profit from this fanfiction. Furthermore any real places are used in a fictional manner. _

Warning: This fiction contains shonen-ai themes (boy's love). If that offends you in any way, please do not read. Current rating is PG-13 (K+), but it may go up with later chapters.

Main Characters: Nero and Weiss from Dirge of Cerberus

This fic is completely AU; set in modern day England and centres around Nero and Weiss although other characters from DoC will be making appearances as well. They are not brothers in this fiction and their ages are closer together than they would be in the game.

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The sun shone down brightly over the carefully manicured lawns of the prestigious public school Eton College, as it had done for over five hundred years. Just moments earlier the main square of the school had been filled with bustling boys as they rushed to class; the sons of politicians, bankers, and even royalty.

The final bell had rung some time ago, pulling the flood of bright young minds dressed in their smart black and white uniforms into the hallowed halls once again, leaving the grounds deserted save for one man, the grizzled head groundskeeper, Peter O'Connell.

There was not one student on campus that did not know about the legendary sternness of Groundskeeper O'Connell. It was a sad day for any student who trod through a newly laid bed of flowers or crashed into the perfectly trimmed hedges for the groundskeeper always seemed to be on hand to catch the culprits. Furthermore, he certainly did not allow the familial status of any of the offenders to prevent the proper dealing out of punishment. There was even rumours that once the groundskeeper had made a member of the royal family rake leaves late into the night for trampling a bed of pansies.

Peter O'Connell was as much a part of Eton as the buildings themselves for many of the boys that attended the school. His trademark tweed flat cap and pipe complimented his tall frame; his hands were gnarled from years of labour but still dexterous enough to do his job well. He had worked at Eton all his life tending to the vast stretches of greenery on campus; in fact O'Connell's had worked the grounds ever since their family left Ireland due to the potato famine.

This sunny day found him trimming the hedges that bordered the main concourse leading from the block of dormitories where the boys lived to the school buildings, the sharp metallic snips of the shears ringing out crisply in the autumnal air, no longer muted by the sounds of jubilant boys. Soon however another sound joined that of the shears, the hurried footfalls of a late student as he ran towards the classrooms. Peter stopped his work for a moment as the footfalls grew louder, taking a long pull at his pipe and waiting to see who was it was.

The grey-haired groundskeeper did not have to wait long as the student came into view, running at full tilt, but still taking the time to slow and acknowledge the older man before he dashed past completely. Peter raised his hand to the peak his cap in response, but the dark haired boy had already gone.

Peter shook his head slightly and a sad smile came to his lips as the watched the retreating form of the student. While Peter prided himself on making the effort to know of all the boys that attended the school (no small feat for a man of his age) he took extra interest in this particular boy. Not because this boy was from a rich and famous family, the opposite was in fact the truth, but because this boy stood out amongst his classmates and ended up being one of the only students that the usually unloquacious groundskeeper would speak to.

Nero Sable was the student's name, fifteen years old and attending Eton on a full scholarship. He was small for his age, with unruly black hair that seemed to always stick up no matter what he did to try to tame it and the most unusual red coloured eyes. Academically, his grades were amongst the top of the class, and he excelled particularly in art, but socially he suffered endlessly at the hands of his fellow students.

Shy to the point of being mute besides when talking was absolutely required and coming from a commoner's background made him an easy target for jokes made at his expense and general bullying. Peter had no doubt that Nero was late today because he had been locked inside a closet or some similar indignity.

With no real family to speak of, Nero often spent his weekends in the dorms and on campus, as opposed to the other boys who tended to fill their days off with visiting family and various amusements. The main and only expense that Peter could observe Nero indulging in was to buy sketchpads for drawing. On the weekends the shy student would often sit himself down in some shaded corner of the campus to draw, away from the mockery of the other students. It was like this that Peter had come to talk to him the very first time; in fact he had dumped an entire wheelbarrow of grass clippings on the boy by accident.

Peter took another pull at his pipe and exhaled slowly, watching the tendrils of smoke curl into the air and disperse before returning to his task. He had barely took up his shears again when another student walked past him, but moving at a significantly more leisurely pace than the former.

Weiss Sieger, a sixteen year old student from Germany, amongst the students on campus he stood out about as much as Nero faded into the background. Although not without his own peculiarities, the most obvious being a white mane of hair that he wore longer and styled more elaborately than the current fashion; Weiss was one of the most popular and well-liked students at the school ever since he transferred to Eton in the middle of the previous year. The tall German just seemed to have an aura of confidence around him, excelling at both academics and athletics while making friends easily, although he never seemed to particularly mind pushing against symbols of authority, causing no small amount of stress for his teachers at times.

Weiss too greeted Peter as he passed by, a gesture that was not lost on the groundskeeper. Most of the boys that attended this school were from rich families and accustomed to servants, while they certainly all knew about the groundskeeper, it was rare that he would be given the same courtesies as the faculty and visiting dignitaries to the school.

As Weiss finally disappeared from his view into the school buildings Peter once again returned to his hedges, after all no O'Connell was going to leave a job half done.

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Author Notes:

Thank you very much for reading this short prologue, I'm really just aiming to set the scene here. I have quite a bit planned for this fic and I hope everyone won't be put off too much by the AU setting. Feedback is always welcome.

Although it may seem a bit odd, this entire fic has been inspired by the strange accent that Nero has in Dirge of Cerberus.

And for those who are interested, a little bit of information about Eton College, it is indeed a real all boy's school in England. It's called a public school in the English sense, the equivalent to an American private school and is generally considered a school to the rich (the royal family tends to prefer to send their boys to Eton). Over 1000 boys aged 13-18 attend the school and they are all boarders (stay in dormitories on site). Of course I have taken many many liberties with this story, but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway (and Eton won't sue me, lol).


	2. Chapter 1

The darkness of the closet surrounded Nero, sounds from the other side of the door muffled by the layer of wood. He knew what was going on though, it was always the same; they were laughing at him.

He sighed and leaned against the door, there was no point breaking out while everyone was still around, they would just shove him back in, or do something worse. He wasn't going to struggle either, make a big fuss and try to get out like he use to do; it would just serve to be more entertainment for his tormentors.

His eyes were soon accustomed to the gloominess of the closet, Nero didn't mind the dark; in fact he preferred it since his eyes were quite sensitive to light. He glanced down at his watch, the hands glowing faintly through the scratched faceplate; there was no way that he was going to make it to class on time now. If it was any class but art, he would have seriously considered just skipping completely, but he certainly wasn't going to miss the one class that he truly enjoyed just because he was being pushed around again.

He ran his fingers through his choppy locks as he waited. His hair was something that often drew the mockery of other students. He never managed to keep it as trim and tidy as the short styles the other boys sported, it grew way too fast for that. For a time he had tried to tame it, but nothing seemed to work so he left it as it wanted to grow, just another thing to make him different from everyone else.

Soon all sounds from beyond the door were gone and Nero went to work. He pulled a small tool from his bag, stuck it into the keyhole and began manipulating the mechanism of the lock. A small amount of effort yielded the sharp click he was waiting for and he allowed himself a small smile as he returned the implement to his bag. Amazing that one skill that he had become proficient at since coming to this prestigious school was lock picking.

He pushed at the door, anticipating freedom but it only opened a couple of inches before jamming. Nero made a small noise of frustration as he put his eye to the crack that was created when he had opened the door slightly; he really was going to be late now.

Someone had propped a chair against the door, wedging it shut. Nero felt his heart sinking, they were being especially cruel today. He looked around the closet for something he could use and grabbed a wire clothes hanger, stretching it out and threading the loop through the crack between the door and its frame. After a few moments of manoeuvring he managed to loop the wire around one of the legs of the chair and tugged upwards sharply, dislodging the chair.

Freedom, finally. Nero pushed the door open and blinked slightly at the change in light levels. No time to waste though, he grabbed his bag and headed towards the door.

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He glanced at his watch again as he ran towards the main complex of buildings, over fifteen minutes late, Mme Fleuve, the art teacher, was not going to be happy. He sped past the grizzled groundskeeper as he was trimming the hedges, slowing slightly to wave to the man.

A few moments later Nero reached the right building, taking the steps up to the door by twos and almost tripping over the edges of his school trousers as he did so. His uniform didn't fit quite right either, being a second hand one. He slowed to a fast walk once inside, his footsteps echoing slightly against the marble floor.

The art studio with its large windows was near the back of the building which edged a small wooded area on one side. Nero reached the door of the classroom and eased it slowly open, trying to make as little noise as possible. If he was lucky he might just be able to slip into his seat without too much disruption.

Luck however, was a fickle mistress who did not often chose to grace Nero with her presence and today was no exception. Nero had barely gotten into the classroom and closed the door behind him when he was met with Mme Fleuve's disapproving gaze.

Mme Vivianne Fleuve hailed from city of Dijon, France. She was a no nonsense woman, petite, but carrying her frame with an air of authority that few would dare challenge, an attitude that certainly helped her survive as a teacher in a school such as this. She wore her blond hair in a loose chignon and none of the students knew exactly how old she was, guesses ranged from late 30s to early 50s, all they knew was that she was rumoured to have a grown son. Another mystery was why she had even come to teach at Eton in the first place. Research by the more inquisitive students revealed that in her early years she had the beginnings of a promising career in the arts, including having some of her work exhibited at _Musée des Beaux-Arts_ in her hometown.

None the less she had come to teach at this school and if there was one thing that frustrated her to no end, it was students who were late.

"Monsieur Sable," Mme Fleuve said, her voice still retaining a strong French accent, "do you have an explanation for why you are late today?"

Nero glanced downwards, not wanting to meet the gaze of his teacher and shook his head slightly, prompting several snickers from the ones who were responsible. There was no point trying to place blame, it never seemed to work and only resulted in him being tormented even worse in retaliation. Mme. Fleuve cast her gaze across the class which was sufficient to quiet the rest of the students again.

She wasn't unsympathetic to Nero's cause, in fact she quite liked the boy, and he was one of the most promising students that had come through her classroom in a long time. She wasn't in a position however to do much about what happened outside her class and she certainly couldn't make exceptions to her own rules for one student.

"That's the third time this month M. Sable," she continued, "You know what that means; detention here after school." She added with an icy tone as she turned towards the class once more, "Don't be late for it."

Nero slipped into his chair behind the drafting style tables that were arranged in twos, face to face, around the classroom, noticing with disappointment that the table opposite his was empty as well. Its usual occupant was one Weiss Seiger and the object of Nero's affections since he had transferred to Eton the midway through the previous year. Not that the young German was aware of this fact however, Nero was very careful to keep his feelings hidden.

Well, honestly it was more of an attraction from afar; Nero probably hadn't exchanged more than a handful of words with the other student up to this point. They definitely moved in different social circles and up until this year they hadn't shared any classes together. Thanks to alphabetical ordering Nero had found himself literally face to face with the man that had caught his eye, but still too shy to say anything. Sometimes when he was sure that Weiss was engrossed in his own work he would watch the white-haired man, watch how he held his pencils in a slightly clumsy manner, how his lips would part slightly when he was concentrating on executing a particularly tricky technique, how he would brush his spiky white hair out of his eyes.

Nero shook himself out of his reprieve and focused on Mme Fleuve's lecture. Today's topic was on the Impressionists and Mme Fleuve was just warming up to the topic when she was interrupted once more by the door to the classroom opening.

"_Alors, beaucoup de retards répétés aujourd'hui."_ She muttered under her breath. It was generally not seen as a good sign when Mme Fleuve reverted to her native tongue.

"Detention for you too M. Seiger" she snapped, before the student had even completely entered the classroom. Weiss opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something then thought better and just took his seat and dug his notebook out of his bag.

Mme Fleuve continued her lecture, but for some reason Nero didn't quite feel like paying full attention today. He knew quite a bit about the Impressionists already, having spent a good amount of time studying the examples that were found in various art galleries around London. Nero glanced at Weiss who looked like he wasn't paying attention at all, gazing instead at somewhere off in middle distance.

Maybe detention wasn't going to be such a bad thing afterall.

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A/N Sorry for another short chapter. I've been quite busy these days but wanted to get something out. Don't worry the action will pick up soon!

Also I want to say thank you to fellow Weiss and Nero fic writer "Like Weiss on Rice" because Vivianne Fleuve is her creation whom I've appropriated for my story and given my own twist to.


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